Playing Pretend
by Fudgyokra
Summary: Lindsay smelled like salt water and expensive, citrusy perfume—this innocuous detail was grating on the same issue that had been bothering Heather for weeks now. She kept noticing things, and every little detail was filed away, labeled as important information that she would certainly recall later for no reason at all.


**Playing Pretend**

**A/N: **Previously on Lori writes for Total Drama: AleNoah and Doey. Today: Heathsay. Who will be next? Tune in next time to find out! And yes, to all those who read Hair Dye, I do have a weird predilection for describing hot summer days and fans...

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Lindsay's living room was a pearl. White walls, white carpet, white furnishings. Even the plasma-screen TV was framed in white plastic, sitting on a wooden stand of the same color and adorned with the occasional bite mark from her small dog, Coco.

The blonde herself was so colorful, especially in comparison to the room that she and Heather occupied.

Said companion was half-heartedly filing her nails at one end of the couch while Lindsay was reclining next to her, waiting for her face mask to set.

The ceiling fan spun above them, slinging cool currents of air that intercepted the heat leaking in from the open backdoor. The pool outside sparkled in the sun, but Heather took no notice. Instead, she looked at Lindsay.

Summer had just begun, meaning Lindsay took to showing off her bikinis at every opportunity. This season's was blue, and it matched her eyes, not that Heather meant to notice that. She just did, and it was so easy. Easy to admit that Lindsay was pretty. Nothing wrong with that.

She drew a breath, then set the file down.

Lindsay's long, tan legs stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed and propped up on the glass coffee table before them. Her toes, sporting nails glossed with pink polish, curled and uncurled. She hummed one of Heather's favorite songs off-key.

Against the white of the couch, she looked oddly artful, with her picturesque pose, gorgeous form, and warm colors. The only off-putting aspect was the avocado mixture smeared on her face and the cucumber slices over her eyes.

They'd been doing nothing of interest for the past hour, but this was how Heather tended to like it—peaceful and free of idle chatter, which was the best conversation she figured the other girl was capable of making. Now, however, she was restless. She stood up from the couch and toed her wedges off, lazily abandoning them in the middle of the floor. "Let's go swimming," she said.

Lindsay lifted up one cucumber to look at her friend. "I still have one more minute in the mask, though."

"Who cares?" Heather returned with a roll of her eyes. "One minute less won't ruin anything."

"Okay…" Lindsay removed the cucumbers from her eyes, set her feet back on the ground, and pressed her hands against her back, arching it in a stretch that ended with a satisfied moan.

The Asian girl mumbled something under her breath.

Once Lindsay had cleaned her face off in the bathroom, the girls left the barely-disturbed whiteness of the living room and took to the pool area. Heather dipped her feet while Lindsay opted for wading up to her waist, splaying her fingers on the surface of the water.

"Aren't you coming in?" the latter questioned, voice innocent, eyes that Heather thought for a split-second might've been imploring. She shouldn't have thought about it, because now those baby blues seemed very hard to resist, imploring or not. She pretended not to know why.

Seconds later, she managed to grate out, "I don't feel like ruining my hair with chlorine today."

"Oh! It's not chlorine, it's just salt!" The blonde cocked her head to the side, smiled brightly, and gestured as though she were waving Heather in. "Come on!"

"I don't want to."

"You're the one who wanted to swim. Why won't you?" The pretty pout that followed these words stole the dark-haired girl's attention for a moment too long to be considered typical. Lindsay, of course, didn't appear to notice.

"I changed my mind."

There had been no desire in her to swim in the first place—the pool excuse just seemed like the easiest way for Heather to catch a breath that wasn't stifled by the uncomfortable weight of…something. Something pertaining to the familiar scent of Lindsay's home. Something about Lindsay herself. Again, Heather pretended that she didn't know (very well) what that something was.

"Well," the girl in question began, "if you don't wanna swim, that's okay!" And with that, she lifted herself out of the pool, sparkling in the sunlight in such a way that Heather was annoyed with the movie-esque perfection of it all. _It all _was very nice, actually, but that didn't exactly give her peace of mind.

They both ended up sitting on the side of the pool, and while Lindsay stared off into nothingness, Heather let her frustration fester into a conglomeration of thoughts, which weren't inherently down-putting but were starting to feel that way.

Example A: Lindsay smelled like salt water and expensive, citrusy perfume—this innocuous detail was grating on the same issue that had been bothering Heather for weeks now. She kept noticing things, and every little detail was filed away, labeled as important information that she would certainly recall later for no reason at all.

Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped, which broke Lindsay out of her reverie but didn't quite do the same for the other girl. The sound of her name being spoken (or perhaps Lindsay's voice), however, did.

Heather may've been the smart one, but something could be said for Lindsay's well-timed manner of broaching a subject no one else wanted to touch.

"When were you gonna tell me you had a crush on me?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, duh. It's, like, really obvious. Why haven't you said anything about it?"

"Are you trying to be funny?" Heather narrowed her eyes at the blonde, who smiled amicably back.

"It's okay if you like me."

"As if." The queen bee shot to her feet, making a point not to look like she was in too much of a hurry while she wordlessly headed back inside.

Seconds later, Lindsay was by her side again. "Come on, don't be mean." No response. Lindsay pressed on. Eventually, the only thing she could think to say to a girl standing frigidly in her living room with her arms crossed was, "Do you wanna watch a movie?"

Heather's face was one hundred percent "are you kidding me?" but the blue-eyed girl insisted, her voice rising excitedly when the idea solidified in her mind as something they had to do. "I have Titanic. I know it's your favorite."

The silence continued for a moment more. Just as Lindsay was about to proceed in her efforts, Heather sat down on the couch and stared at the TV expectantly. "What're you waiting for, Lindsiot? If you don't hurry up and put the movie in, I am _so _leaving."

Lindsay grinned and eagerly plucked the DVD case from its spot, then pressed the disc into the player. "This'll be so fun! It'll be like a sleepover!" She paused, then added, "Except it's not nighttime and we're not in PJs. Ooh! But I have really cute ones. Hold on, I'll show you!"

Before a remark could be made, the girl had hurried to her bedroom as if cute nightwear was one of the most exciting things one could show off.

Heather rolled her eyes, mostly in an effort to regain a sense of normalcy—like she didn't just brush against the threat of her secret being blown. It was all fine, now; she would fake it until it was gone, which, for her, would be easy. Only, at the movie's ten minute mark, Lindsay had returned in a silk, powder-pink-colored shorts-and-tank set, with her hair pulled back and all of her makeup removed, and Heather realized that it might not be so easy, after all. This epiphany was met with a pang of cold dread.

She forced her eyes back to the movie even though she'd suddenly lost the desire to watch it, but placed most of her focus on how the couch dipped beside her when Lindsay sat a little closer than normal. Her presence was, as usual, warm and cheerful…silky, too, but that was beside the point, Heather dutifully reminded herself.

As seemed to be the pattern of the day, Lindsay appeared not to notice her companion's casual albeit frequent glances until sometime later, when it became very apparent that she had.

"I know you've been staring at me all day," she said with a giggle.

The dark-haired girl sneered. "Believe me, I was definitely not."

"But I know that look. I used to get it all the time from…ah, Tyler. And lots of boys, actually."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a boy, Lindsay." Heather crossed her arms.

"I've had girls stare at me, too, though."

"It's not the same thing."

"Sure it is. I mean—I like girls. And you do too, right?"

Heather stiffened the smallest fraction but didn't reply, so Lindsay continued. "I totally get it if you don't wanna say that kinda stuff to everyone. But, ya know, if you ever wanna, like, kiss…" Her now-gloss-less lips turned up into a coy smile at the same time that her eyes met the ceiling.

The movie suddenly seemed like the least interesting thing in the world.

"You're kidding," Heather deadpanned, turning her body toward the other girl, who shook her head.

"No I'm not, silly. I like you, too."

Heather's favorite film was suddenly background noise to annoying thumping in her chest, the scent of citrusy perfume and muted salt water moving closer to her, closed eyelids, long lashes, and soft lips suddenly on hers as if this were the most natural thing Heather had ever done in her life.

It hadn't even felt this right with Alejandro.

Lindsay's lips were unbelievably soft, not that Heather ever suspected they'd be anything but, and they moved against hers with such satisfying smoothness that she'd unconsciously pressed herself closer. They spent the next sequence of minutes slowly inching toward each other, finding places for their hands to rest—on hips, in hair, under shirts—and while the movie rolled in the background, unwatched, the brown-eyed girl relaxed without the tension of having to ignore the things she wanted.

She may be spoiled, but so was Lindsay, and, surprisingly, they fit together pretty well nowadays. Two spots of bright color against a white couch, tucked against one arm of it, entangled.


End file.
